


John gets called to war (Version 2)

by TheTomBoy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt John Watson, Hurt/Comfort, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Men Crying, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 15:09:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16020467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTomBoy/pseuds/TheTomBoy
Summary: John gets called back to war and has to tell Sherlock.





	John gets called to war (Version 2)

Sherlock entered the kitchen to see John staring at his computer, eyes wide. His fingers were pressed against the mouse as he scrolled up and down again, reading something over and over. Sherlock glanced at him through his science glasses before going to the sink to add water to his jar. If John was upset there was no point in asking. He would tell Sherlock later. Or more exact, scream at Sherlock before breaking down and disappearing to his room. Usually, Sherlock didn't mind. He knew John was burdened. That happened more often these days, as John had more on his mind. Sherlock had urged him to go back to his phycologist, but John refused. He said he couldn't talk to anyone right now, and Sherlock did not blame him. 

But as Sherlock turned to hold his jar up to the light he saw tears in John’s eyes. They made John’s eyes darker. It made Sherlock curious, and surprisingly a bit concerned. What made John upset? If it was a person he would personally track him down and murder him without a chance of his body ever being found. He forged his gaze away and leaned down to add another liquid o his first, creating a small explosion in the water, making it splash over the table.

John closed the laptop and folded his fingers, breathing deeply in through his nose. Okay, Sherlock thought, clearly upset. 

”Sherlock.” He said slowly and quietly as if he was out of oxygen. The soldier as always, of course. 

Sherlock hummed to show that he was listening before adding more of the other liquid, making the remaining substance bloat and spill over onto the table. It grew pink and almost seemed corrosive.

”Can you..put that away for a moment?” John asked and looked him in the eye, showing he was serious. Sherlock nodded and put his things down, and pulled the glasses off to lay among his things. When John had Sherlock’s full attention he swallowed hard and tried very hard to hold Sherlock’s gaze. 

”I got a mail from my previous commander.”

Sherlock’s heart began to pick up a pace now. John had been called back, that was the only solution. Unless John’s previous commander mailed him about his birthday that was in three months, that was the only solution. His gaze fell to the table, his brilliant mind not knowing how to react to this. What was that feeling he was feeling? Guilt? No. Fear? Of course. Shock? Obviously. 

”I’ve been called back. I need to leave tomorrow morning.” John said and put his fingers against his lips like Sherlock always did. The tip of his fingers covered the inner part of his eyes and the tears that were starting to collect there. Sherlock knew that John did that on purpose. He always did that when he didn't want anyone to see his tears.

Sherlock himself still didn't know how to progress this, and when John looked up at him he seemed almost more upset. Sherlock looked down. Why couldn't he cry, as John did? Now John would believe Sherlock didn't care at all like John didn't matter to him. That wasn't right. John mattered to him, more than anything else. So why couldn't he cry? Show that he was upset? The feelings didn't belong in his brain as words, he needed to express them. But he couldn’t. 

That was so wrong. In Sherlock mind, he experienced all the emotions he could name, and more.

John quietly rose from the chair and went to his room. Sherlock heard the footsteps on the stairs grew quieter until he heard John’s bedroom door close. How could he show John he cared? How could he show John that despite everything bad he always did, he was good? He had feelings, even if he had a hard time showing them. While biting his lip Sherlock rose from the chair, abandoning his experiment on the table. He needed to show John he cared, and that he was upset. The way his heartbeat sped up must mean something. And the way he felt like it was hard to breathe.

He went to the kettle and filled it up, before setting it on the stove. While the water was starting to get hot Sherlock leaned against the countertops, one hand on opposite side of the stove. He closed his eyes as they stung. Why did they sting? He took in a shuddering breath and realized. He was crying. He let out a quiet sob as he clutched at the countertop, the tops of his fingers turning white. His chest felt tight, and with every sob, he let out his breathing got more strained. Soon he was breathing heavily, feeling a bit lightheaded. The sound of the kettle over sounded his sobs, so hopefully, John wouldn't hear. The tears spilled from his eyes, over his cheeks, and onto the floor. Soon his cheeks were drenched, and his eyes red. But his chest a bit lighter. Who knew releasing your feelings in this utterly messy way could actually provide some relief? He took in a shuddering breath and picked up the kettle, his hands shaking a bit. Pouring two cups of tea he picked them up and went up the stairs.

He stopped outside of John’s bedroom door, staring at the dark wood. Maybe this was a bad idea. No, his mind argued. John needed to talk. Sherlock knew that was logical. 

”John?” He asked, his voice weak. He pressed his eyes shut, before looking up again. ”John?” His asked a bit louder, his voice steadier. 

”Yes?” John replied, his voice thick almost. Maybe he was crying, or holding back tears. 

”Can I come in?” Sherlock asked. He knew he needed to ask, especially when John was upset. John had told him that, and he tried to remember, for John’s sake.

”Hang on,” John said in a sigh, and Sherlock heard some shuffling. ”Yeah come in.”

”I got tea, can you open the door?” Sherlock asked, almost a bit ashamed by it. He heard footsteps before the door opened, revealing John in his grey sweater and sweatpants. As usual, nothing has changed. That was until Sherlock looked up at John’s face. His cheeks were puffy, and his eyes red. He had been crying. But now when Sherlock was here, he held back the tears. But Sherlock noticed.

Holding up a cup he smiled gently, unsure what to do. John softly smiled back and moved aside to let Sherlock in. Okay, Sherlock thought, this was new. He had never been in John’s room before. Well, not when John was there.

He set John’s cup down on his nightstand, before standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, not sure where to sit. 

”You can sit on the bed,” John said from behind him, sounding tired. ”Or the chair. Doesn’t matter.”

Sherlock nodded and sat down on the chair in the corner, it seems like the polite thing to do. He could be polite, especially if it was about John. He saw John move to take the cup and sit on the bed, legs crossed, facing Sherlock. His fingers played with the handle, eyes glued on the liquid. 

”Are you okay?” Sherlock suddenly asked, breaking the silence. It was a stupid question, he knew that, but he needed to break the silence.

”How can you take these kinds of news, and be okay?” John asked quietly, still not looking up. Sherlock nodded. Fair enough. 

”What time are you leaving?” That question made Sherlock swallow hard, and he realized the seriousness of this situation. John was leaving, and would probably never return. 

”Five fifty. They pick me up to go to the airport.”

”Who?”

”My previous commander.”

Sherlock nodded, and looked down at his own cup, swirling the tea around in it. The silence was thick in the air again, and Sherlock desperately wanted to say something. He just wanted John to stay.

”Do you have to go?” He asked before he could stop himself. He felt himself blush, and kept his gaze on the cup, even if he felt John looking up at him. It sounded like a plea almost, which was very out of character for him. 

”Yes,” John said simply, and Sherlock lowered his head even more. He had spent his tears, and his sadness soon turned to anger. He clutched the cup tightly as he pursed his lips. With a surprising grace, he stood up and flung his teacup across the room, making it shatter against the wall.

”Sherlock!” John exclaimed in surprise, his arm going across his eyes by reflex. When he lowered it Sherlock was gone, but his footsteps were heard on the stairs. John rose from the bed and put his cup down, before hurrying after Sherlock in fear that he might hurt himself, or the kitchen. When he came down he saw Sherlock completely destroying the kitchen. He pushed everything on the table to the floor, making it crash as glass broke, and liquid spilled. His face was angry, to say the least, but still, he cried. 

”Sherlock!” John called as he ran up to him and gripped his wrists. Sherlock snarled and tried to break free, but John’s grip was firm. 

”Sherlock! Calm down! This doesn't change anything!” He tried, looking up at Sherlock’s face. Sherlock stilled but avoided John’s gaze. John must be disappointed in him now.

Once Sherlock’s wrists relaxed in John’s, John held them in a more gentle grip. He looked at Sherlock, but Sherlock looked away. Tears filled his gorgeous blue eyes, shading them slightly red.  
John saw that, and that did it for him. His tears started falling, and he drew in a shaking breath. That made Sherlock look at him, and he could, for the first time since he lost his childhood dog, feel his heartbreak.

He swallowed hard, making a tear drip down his cheek, and rose his hands to lay them around John’s shoulders. The moment his arms closed around the smaller man, he collapsed against him. Sherlock tightened his grip, loving the feeling of the small bundle of warmth he now held against him. He could feel John’s shoulders shake under his hands, and moved his thumbs up and down. Leaning down he pressed his nose to John’s hair as if the smell would make everything okay. Nothing could make this okay. But at that moment, when Sherlock held John against him, he felt okay. He felt like everything could be alright if they could just stay like this forever. But reality would catch up with them sooner or later.


End file.
